Horrors of War
by Himuro Miharu
Summary: More cries pierced the air, the smoke was so thick it blocked out the sun, day became night, friend became foe, as people all around began fighting for shelter. Closing his eyes Feliciano tried to block out all the fighting, all the screams; the pain and sorrow brought upon them by one man.


Title: Horrors of War  
Author: Himuro Miharu  
Pairing: briefly hinted Feliciano/Ludwig( /Germany)  
Genre: Angst/Horror  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Mentions of gore, insanity, self harm  
Summary: More cries pierced the air, the smoke was so thick it blocked out the sun, day became night, friend became foe, as people all around began fighting for shelter.  
Notes: was watching a documentary on World War II back in July and this was born. I've been so busy I forgot I even had this.  
It was proof-read by the amazing Jami, so if you find any more mistakes blame her xD  
Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns them~

Feliciano stared in horror, honey eyes wide as he surveyed the devastation all around him. Over head bombs sailed through the air, exploding on contact; the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears.

He wanted to cry. To honestly break down where he stood and sob at the sight of uniformed boys and older men, boys crying, guns at their sides, older men staring ahead no emotion on their faces but all emotions visible in their eyes. He took all their faces in, committing them to memory for he knew many would die in this final battle.

The sound of screams tore him from his dark thoughts and he turned, crying out at the sight of a tiny child, no more than 7, crying over her mother's crumpled form, dark blood blossoming from the wound on her chest. The little girl cried out, shaking her mother, pleading for her to wake up.

"Bambina you shouldn't be out here at this time. Come, let's go dear." Feliciano held out a hand, smiling at the child.

Nodding the small girl stood, reaching out for the brunette's hands. Suddenly a shot rang out and the Italian felt blood on his face and shrieked in terror when the child fell the ground, a hole in her skull.

Standing on trembling limbs the Italian could only stare, struggling to remember what the war was even about. When he couldn't, he turned to run, wanting nothing more than to find the tall blonde that promised to protect him, the blonde that as the war progressed, became a monster, a mere shadow of his former self.

More cries pierced the air, the smoke was so thick it blocked out the sun, day became night, friend became foe, as people all around began fighting for shelter. Closing his eyes he tried to block out all the fighting, all the screams; the pain and sorrow brought upon them by one man. Looking ahead he caught sight of a small group of children huddled in a small building. Calling out to them he tried to coax them out, fearing what would happen if they stayed within the confines of the ruins.

A bomb soared through the air, careening into the building, exploding upon impact. Feliciano screamed, his hair whipping about his face. He screamed until his voice was raw, sobbing as the putrid scent of rotting burned flesh his nostrils with such force he fell to his hands and knees, vomiting hard until he was left dry heaving.

Standing he stumbled forward, tears streaming down his cheeks until he found his way to the bunker he shared with Ludwig. No. This man wasn't Ludwig. This man was Germany. The embodiment of the nation, puppet and warrior for Hitler.

Stumbling about he whimpered, all around him he could hear the sounds of people screaming, guns firing, lives being torn apart.

The bunker finally came into view and he stopped, looking around. He could see now that the world was just a cesspool of greed, lust, anger, and could see those children were innocent victims, wounds that had quickly gained infection to the point of no return. A bandage needs to be placed over them, protecting them from the infections of the world. He wanted to protect them. Love them, and save them from the evils of the world. Another scream pierced the air as a shot rang out, this one close to him. Looking to the right he felt hot bile rise once more at the sight.

A young boy; no older than 15; lay in the rubble of what once was a store, his internal organs splayed out around him, body riddled with bullet holes.

Clapping a hand over his mouth the Italian pushed the revolting fluid back into his throat, whimpering in agony. He tried to speak, to call out for Germany, but his voice wouldn't work. All the words were stuck, his vocal chords scorched by the smoke and screaming. When he was finally able to speak he quietly called out for the blonde.

"Germany."  
Nothing happened. His ears were ringing from gunshots, all he could smell was burning, rotting flesh, his mouth like cotton.

"Germany."

A bit louder.

"Germany."

Finally his voice was returning to normal, taking a break he released a scream.

"Germany!"

Within minutes the blonde was at his side.

"What is it Italy? Why are you on the ground?" The man's voice was gruff and cold. The smaller male was teetering on the edge, tipping towards a break down. Looking up at the man he could see the different stages the man went through before he became the monster before him.

Struggling he tried to stand, looking up at his German companion. Golden eyes spotted the red band snaking around his arm; the black swastika standing out even more than normal; he screamed, shoving passed the blonde and running. He kept running, no longer wishing to be a part of anything, much less the mass murder taking place on German soil.

Germany had taken him to the camps once, back when he was still half of Ludwig. He cried when he witnessed all the people, and the man told him to shut up before suddenly apologizing softly. He knew he was losing the man, it pained him to think it, but he knew it was true. Pulling his knees up to his chest he closed his eyes and covered his ears, blocking out the gunfire and explosions.

He was content to sit in his own world, everything black silent as he waited for the world to setting around him, his break down evident.

It wouldn't end.

Whenever he slept he heard the screams, could envision the bodies, still smell the stench of rotting flesh, but worst of all he could see Ludwig. Emotionless ice bleu eyes staring down at him in anger and disappointment, red arm band a distinct feature.

He knew the war was over, but he didn't leave. He stayed secluded, deluding himself into believing the nightmares and hallucinations were still reality. He didn't want to see the German monster any longer. He wanted Ludwig. He could barely remember what the man looked like, his mind warping the memories they had made into horrors of war.

He never noticed when he began to harm himself, it began to small; simply cutting himself; but slowly, as he fell deeper into his own madness it became worse. Taking chunks of his own flesh, cutting them out piece by piece.

Eventually it took hold, and he found himself completely gone.

No one knew where he had gone, it taken months to find his hiding place, Germany was the first one inside. Immediately he fell to the wooden floor, bile scorching his throat as it came up in waves.

The mangled corpse of Italia Veniziano, Feliciano Vargas was all that remained.


End file.
